


No Comment

by Spidergwenstefani



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Established Relationship, Extreme PDA tbh, M/M, PDA, POV Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-21
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-06-30 12:36:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15751791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spidergwenstefani/pseuds/Spidergwenstefani
Summary: '“Alright,” Pepper shrugs, typing something into her StarkPad. “How about we just leave it at no comment? Unless you think Bucky has something to say on the topic of Clint’s-”“No comment. Let’s go with no comment,” Tony interrupts, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stop the headache rising at the idea of Barnes actually talking to the press. “It’s just an isolated incident, anyways. A moment of celebration with his new boyfriend or whatever. It’s not like it’s going to become a Thing.”It absolutely becomes a Thing.'AKA Bucky Barnes seems to have a problem with blatant PDA and Clint is along for the ride. Tony Stark is a lovable hypocrite, as usual.This fic is a gift for Nny because apparently I'm only capable of writing fics when I don't have their beautiful writing to give me my daily winterhawk fix.





	No Comment

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nny/gifts).



> I can't believe I've been working on like five multi-chapter winterhawk fics for like 6 months and this fic is the one that I finally decide to post. This isn't beta'd at all and I barely proof-read it so if you see any egregious typos feel free to let me know. I used a few made up names in this for background characters and I didn't actually check to see if there were any real people with those names so also sorry if that happens.
> 
> This is dedicated to Nny who is my hero in so many ways and whose writing I will always look to for inspiration <3
> 
> also I just want to go on record saying that "The ass-grab, as it turns out, was just the tip of the iceberg. The ass-berg, if you will." is the best line I have ever written and it will only go downhill from here.

Tony Stark has always prided himself in his involvement in the revamped Stark Industries. Unlike most of the other CEOs on Forbes’ world billionaires list, _he_ actually keeps up to date on the specifics of his own company. Once a month, Tony and Pepper camp out on the floor of his office, sipping champagne and watching city lights through the giant bay windows as they sort through the stacks of new patents and research data Stark Industries has filed. Ever since the Avengers started upping their public appearances, Tony’s also been putting more attention into the PR branch. No new statements on team activities are released without his signature. Since the whole Thor versus KFC fiasco, he’s even implemented a policy that new issues without any record of relevant official statements go directly to Tony Stark for comment. It’s been nice. He doesn’t have to worry about a pack of interns spinning his own actions the wrong way. Tony really can’t think of anything that would make him go back to his days of watered down statements and willful ignorance.

Well. Anything except this.

“I don’t _want_ to make a statement on the picture. I don’t want to even _look_ at the picture.”

Tony’s aware of how much he sounds like a whiny teenager, but he feels like it’s warranted. Pepper just rolls her eyes at him and slides the image up onto the main holoscreen. Tony winces as he’s assaulted with the larger-than-life image of the Winter Soldier digging his shiny metal fingers into Clint Barton’s impressive backside.

“Sorry, Tony,” she says, and she actually does sound a little sympathetic. “The PR team doesn’t really know what to do with this. We don’t exactly have a history of statements on the sexualities or relationship statuses of the Avengers.”

“This is what I get for trying to make Barnes into the good guy again,” Tony mutters, trying to look anywhere but at the giant picture of a handsy hundred-year-old assassin. “I pulled so many strings to make that ceremony happen. And how does he repay me? By playing grab-ass with Katniss right after the President of the United States awards him with a Medal of Honor.” Tony can’t believe this is even an issue. The relationship between Barnes and Clint is a recent development for the team, but he never pegged Barnes as the kind of guy to grab a handful in front of a million cameras and government officials. If anything, he figured their relationship would fizzle out after Clint got tired of Tall Dark and Brooding not returning his sappy puppy dog eyes.

“Clint _does_ look nice in that suit,” Pepper says mildly. Tony points at her accusingly.

“No. Absolutely not. You’ve always been with me on hating public figures that go overboard on the PDA. You aren’t allowed to compromise your morals just because Legolas can fill out some dress slacks.” He’s actually a little hurt that Clint let this happen. He has some fond memories of Clint getting in trouble for some not-too-subtle gagging pantomimes when a diplomat got handsy with a secretary at a meeting with the UN.

“Alright,” Pepper shrugs, typing something into her StarkPad. “How about we just leave it at no comment? Unless you think Bucky has something to say on the topic of Clint’s-”

“No comment. Let’s go with no comment,” Tony interrupts, pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stop the headache rising at the idea of Barnes actually talking to the press. “It’s just an isolated incident, anyways. A moment of celebration with his new boyfriend or whatever. It’s not like it’s going to become a Thing.”

>>=========>

It absolutely becomes a Thing.

The ass-grab, as it turns out, was just the tip of the iceberg. The ass-berg, if you will. Tony learns very quickly that Barnes’ physicality doesn’t improve as his relationship with Clint continues. If anything, it gets _worse_.

“Was he always like this?” Tony asks, staring down at the cover of _Life & Style_ that features Barnes pressing Clint against a wall, his mouth attached to Clint’s throat like a hundred-year-old murderous leech. The fancy suits they’re wearing place them at last night’s charity gala. The photo is grainy enough that Tony can pretend it’s just poor image quality that’s making Clint’s face look so flushed, but whoever got the shot was clearly pretty close. Closer than paparazzi could ever be without tipping off either of his teammates. Tony gives Clint the benefit of the doubt. He looks more than a little distracted in the photo, but Barnes? This is the same guy that Tony watched kill a fly with a fork without looking up from his morning newspaper. If anyone got a camera that close to him last night, it was because he let them.

“Gay? Yes. Always,” Steve answers. That bastard. At least he has the grace to look embarrassed by the magazine that Tony is now waving in his face.

“No, Capsicle. _Disgusting_. Don’t turn this on me. Robocop is the one defiling the Museum of Natural History during what’s _supposed_ to be a good, pure event to raise money for primary education.”

“Okay, are you asking if Bucky used to make out in public? With men? In the thirties?” Steve fixes him with the look he usually reserves for reporters asking him how he feels about vaccines. It’s a look that’s usually followed by polio statistics or a vivid description of what it feels like to have the measles.

“Touché,” Tony grumbles, dropping the tabloid magazine back onto the table in defeat.

>>=========>

“Any questions?” Steve makes it through his speech, Tony thinks admirably, without once yawning, and he wonders if it’s some hidden power of the super serum. The team is slightly dehydrated, somewhat sunburnt, and incredibly exhausted after a four-day mission in the depths of Peru, and all Tony really wants to do is fall face-first into bed. Tragically, the mission had involved a rather messy takedown of a hidden lair of Doctor Doom, which he built rather disrespectfully in the Urubamba Valley. Personally, Tony thinks that prioritizing living civilians over a few ruins, no matter how historic, is a clear choice, but based on Pepper’s outraged rant about the significance of Inca history, he suspects this is one of those moments where his sleep-deprivation is magnifying his asshole tendencies.

Either way, they got corralled into a press release before any one of them could make it back to the tower. Steve was nominated as the only one with enough patience to respectfully handle the official statement, but the rest of the team is present to field question as well. Steve may have Erskine’s super-serum pumping through his veins, but there’s only so much press one guy can handle.

Tony spaces out as the reporters start crowding in, preferring to do one last visual scan of his teammates. Sam is a little scraped up, leaning heavily against Natasha whose hair has seen better days but is somehow otherwise completely unscathed. Bruce looks about ready to fall over, shaking himself back to consciousness every few seconds as he sways on his feet. Thor seems generally alright, the one gash he got from a Doombot along his wrist already almost completely healed.

Clint is dead on his feet, pressed shamelessly against Barnes for support. Barnes is taking full advantage of being used as a vertical bed, his metal hand tucked into a back pocket of Clint’s tac pants because apparently the HYDRA version of the super serum gives you the sex drive of a fucking god. Clint’s head is draped across his shoulder, and Barnes is murmuring things that Tony can only imagine are lewd and entirely inappropriate. Clint mumbles something back, and whatever it is pulls a small smile out of Barnes. He presses a kiss to Clint’s hair, which is. Okay. That’s a little fucking cute. Whatever. Tony rolls his eyes, and by the time he looks back Clint is standing up a little straighter, Barnes working open-mouthed kisses along his jaw. Tony grits his teeth as a camera flashes at the exact moment that Barnes uses his teeth to tug on Clint’s earlobe, and resigns himself to issuing a comment on his teammate’s apparent lack of respect for historical ruins.

>>=========>

Due to a recent run-in with AIM and their new laser-cannon technology, the floor of the tower typically reserved for investor meetings and other such important events is currently under construction. Luckily, Stark Tower has never been lacking in conference rooms, so relocating the investors down to the HR floor for the day is a piece of cake. The HR conference rooms aren’t quite as luxurious as the ones Tony prefers for investors, more sleek glass and stainless steel than rich mahogany and plush carpets, but they do just fine in a pinch. He could do without the completely see-through glass walls, especially when a one Clint Barton stops by the desk across the hall to drop off some paperwork. Even the most sour-faced old-money fat cats can’t keep up the air of indifference when there’s a real-live avenger to look at like an animal in a zoo. Tony powers through the distracted glances and tries not to take it personally.

“As you can see, our third quarter stocks are on the up,” he says, waving a hand at the holoscreen. He’s completely lost Mrs. Keswick to the raw magnetism of Clint’s biceps, but he’s always gotten the feeling that she never pays too much attention to these things anyway. “The launch of the newest StarkPhone went spectacularly if I do say so myself, and we got a boost off of being the only phone launch that month that didn’t have a bug in the initial OS.”

“Did that offset the cost of delaying the launch to do a final debugging check on the code?” Mrs. Alice Harvey-Sutcliffe asks sourly, and Tony’s caught between resenting her maggie-smith-without-the-charm vibe as usual and being a little touched that she actually bothered to learn a little more twenty-first-century language.

“More than,” he answers. “The launch was only delayed twelve hours, and we’re looking at hundreds of thousands of new long-term customers here.”

Mrs. Alice Harvey-Sutcliffe doesn’t grace him with her typical haughty sniff, the reason becoming obvious as Tony follows her gaze through the glass to see that a _new_ player has entered the scene. Barnes has sidled up to Clint, his own stack of paperwork clenched in shiny metal hand and a lecherous look in his eye. Tony says a silent prayer to whatever god is in charge of keeping Carol from HR firmly in her desk. He can practically see her headache come on, probably pavlovian from catching Barnes and Clint in the same room.

“How’s the prototype for the self-powered PCs coming?” Darius Hodges asks, and Tony gives him a beaming smile. He really needs to get more new money silicon valley types into these meetings.

“Spectacularly. We’ve developed a compact battery that will power a PC on maximum output for nearly a year and a half.”

An employee jogs past the glass panels and draws everyone’s eyes yet again to the Avengers in their natural habitat. Tony feels his stomach drop a little at the way Barnes has crowded into Clint’s space in the interim, his body language living up to the legends of Sergeant Bucky Barnes in his prime. Clint is at least managing a more subtle posture, although Tony can see the blush working its way up the back of his neck from here.

“You aren’t going to use compact reactors as a power source?” Mr. Hodges asks, and Tony scrambles to remember the context through his sense of impending doom. At least Carol has remained glued to her chair.

“We’re working on more of a hybrid between reactor and battery. Something that will still last longer than anything else on the market.” Out of the corner of his eye, Tony sees Carol press a stamp onto Clint’s forms. His blood runs cold as she stands up, clearly heading towards the main HR desk which is so very far away.

“Why shoot so low when you have the resources to develop a permanent self-sustaining power source?”

Barnes tilts his head a little to the side, saying something to Clint with a grin that can only be called lascivious. Clint laughs, ducking his head a little and only serving to bring his face closer to Barnes.

“I wouldn’t call it shooting low,” Tony manages to say. “The batteries will be removable, so nobody will need to throw out a perfectly good laptop. We’re also sourcing materials that can be recycled, through collection bins at StarkTech stores.”

Metal fingers press against the wood of Carol’s desk as Barnes’ right hand hovers just out from Clint’s waist, thumb skimming the hem of his shirt. He says something else, clearly lower, and his gaze slides unmistakably across Clint’s body. Tony swallows.

“How will that read to the public? It’s not like your arc reactor tech is a closely guarded secret. There could be accusations of interest solely in profit, of taking advantage of lower class consumers and making them dependent on batteries.”

Clint places a hand demurely on Barnes’ forearm, although the innocence of it is lost as Barnes lets his metal arm slide up Clint’s side, rucking up his shirt and eliciting a goddamn shiver out of him.

“The decision was made in the public’s best interest.” Tony _knows_ he sounds strained. Half of his investors have their eyes glued to the show just a few feet away. “By sticking with batteries, we can keep the price of our PCs astoundingly low. It’s still more cost-effective for any consumer in the long run. And we don’t want to put entirely self-sufficient arc reactors out into the world in such large quantities to be disassembled and reused by anyone with an agenda that requires a lot of power. Using finite power sources will help us get the product to the people without the government jumping in with safety concerns.”

Barnes whispers- because Tony can’t hear them but he’s pretty goddamn sure a husky whisper is what’s supposed to follow that body language- something into Clint’s ear, and Clint blushes spectacularly, a goofy grin dawning on his face. That’s it. Tony just _knows_ he’s fucked, because in the last six months he hasn’t seen Clint grin like that without Barnes immediately-

“Speaking of safety,” Mr. Doug Cain cuts in, and Tony actually rips his eyes away from his shameless colleagues for this, because Doug Cain never opens his mouth at an investors meeting unless he’s about to put his foot right in it. “I’ve had a few concerns about the Stark PR lately.” Tony focuses all his energy on loathing Doug Cain and his pretentious southern drawl instead of looking out the goddamn glass walls. Even Mr. Hodges is staring at this point. The only person who doesn’t have their eyes glued to the glass is Doug, who has his back to the whole thing because he always sits at the other end of the conference table. Probably thinks it’s some kind of power move.

“What kinds of concerns, Mr. Cain?” Tony says as flatly as possible.

“I’ve just been worried about those associated with you, and therefore the company. It seems to me that you’ve let quite a few statements slide, particularly ones from a Mr. Steve Rogers, and I-”

“That’s _Captain_ Rogers, Mr. Cain. And you know that the good Captain has never claimed to speak in regards to Stark Industries.” Tony can’t keep the bitterness from his voice. “I wouldn’t worry, Mr. Cain. Stark Industries will be sure to continue reflecting your good Christian values.”

There’s a thump that is barely muffled by the layer of glass, and this time even Doug Cain looks out into the HR floor, his face immediately taking on an impressive shade of beet red as the whole table of one-percenters watch Bucky Barnes drop Clint Barton onto the loudly protesting desk of Carol from HR, his mouth trailing obscenely along Clint’s collarbone as the fingers of his metal hand slip slightly below the waistband of Clint’s jeans. Tony thinks, somewhat hysterically, that HYDRA probably never imagined this scenario when they designed the thing.

>>=========>

He’s still miffed about the investors meeting the next morning.

It wasn’t that he liked working with bigoted shareholders, or that Stark Industries would have any sort of financial struggle without Mr. Doug “Christian Values” Cain and his family’s oil money. No, it’s more the _principle_ of the whole thing, because at this point Bucky Barnes seems to have mounted a two-man operation against any part of Avengers Tower that Tony had previously considered sanitary. Not only that, but his ruthless objectification of one Clint Barton _has_ to be taking its toll by now. Right?

Tony grumbles to himself as the elevator slides open to the Avengers’ communal floor. He shuffles towards the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He stayed up late last night, taking out his frustration on a particularly tricky stabilizer glitch in his newest suit, and didn’t realize until this morning that the coffee machine on his personal floor was still on the fritz. Now he has to go all the way down to here just to get a cup of coffee.

He hears low noises from the kitchen and grits his teeth, ready to ignore Sam and Steve’s chipper morning-people greetings. He realizes the noises aren’t Sam and Steve as he rounds the corner, but his relief is short-lived as his brain catches up to the visuals his eyes are sending in.

Clint is sitting on the kitchen counter, his back thudding against the cabinets as Barnes crowds in between his legs. They’re attached at the mouth, although that’s doing little to muffle the moans that Tony already knows he won’t be able to scrub from his brain. Clint has both his hands tangled in Barnes’ hair and Barnes has- Oh god. He’s got both of his hands down the back of Clint’s sweatpants.

“ _Is nothing sacred?_ ” Tony shouts, the exhaustion in his voice making him sound angrier than he meant to, but it’s enough for Barnes to break away and shoot Tony a bored look.

“G’ mornin’,” he says, like his hands aren’t still down the pants of Tony’s teammate. Clint finally looks over at Tony, a slightly guilty look on his face.

“It _was_. Until I walked in on you a moment away from doing god knows what on my kitchen counter!”

Clint bites his lip and extracts himself from Barnes, hopping down from the counter and grabbing a bowl of cereal that Tony imagines must be pretty soggy at this point. He retreats to the couch as Barnes turns to Tony, squaring his shoulders and really playing up the whole super-soldier thing, even as he gives Tony a casual grin.

“I was under the impression that this was a communal floor.”

“Well, _I_ was under the impression that you shouldn’t fuck in a shared living space. A shared _cooking_ space, actually.” Tony knows he shouldn’t be picking fights with ex-KGB assassins, especially not this early in the morning, but he’s kind of had enough. “You know where else you shouldn’t be fucking? Here’s a short list: Military award ceremonies, charity fundraisers, press releases, and outside my goddamn investors' meetings.” Barnes squares his jaw and Tony catches a dangerous glint in his eye, but he can’t stop himself at this point. “It’s great that the world’s changed and all since the thirties, but that doesn’t mean I want to see you treating my teammate like a piece of meat every time you think you’ve got a moment alone!”

Something flares in Barnes’ eyes then, and he straightens up like a shock’s gone up his spine. Tony knows he’s gone too far, and he backs up a half step, ready to dodge a metal fist if it comes to that.

But Bucky just pushes him aside with his right arm, storming out of the kitchen. Tony hears him stomp down the hall and into the elevator. He feels like an asshole as the doors slide shut, but there’s still a hint of righteous fury in him when Clint slips behind him to drop his empty bowl in the sink.

“How can you be okay with him treating you like this?” Tony asks, frowning as Clint rinses off his dishes. “Doesn’t it make you feel… I don’t know. Objectified, or something?” Clint doesn’t catch Tony’s eye until he’s put his dishes away in the dishwasher. He looks at him with mild surprise.

“Sorry,” he says, pointing to his ears. “I haven’t put my aids in yet. Did you say something?”

“No, nevermind.” Tony waves a hand dismissively, but now Clint’s got him fixed with a thoughtful look.

“Y’know,” he says after a pause, leaning his hip against the counter. “I wasn’t very old when I left Iowa.” Tony’s not sure where this is going, but something about the way Clint won’t quite meet his eyes tells him it’s worth hearing. “I didn’t- I mean, I was still a kid and all. But I knew some things. About myself. About who I liked.”

Clint looks down at his hands, picking at his fingernails.

“We actually passed through Iowa each year. In the circus. Not always the same town, but the same type of place. It was cool to see it change, usually for the better.” He fixes Tony with a stare, then. There’s something sad in his eyes. It’s maybe the most serious Tony’s ever seen him. “It wasn’t really the towns that changed that much in the end, though. Eventually, it had to be me. Even when the world gets a little softer, you’re the one that has to keep pushing.”

It’s without a doubt the most profound thing Clint’s ever said. Tony waits for him to duck his head, rub the back of his neck and shuffle his feet like a bashful child. Instead, a new intensity comes into his stare.

“The world’s a hell of a lot softer than it was in the thirties. About a lot of things. I can’t really blame Buck for trying to push it that little bit more.”

Tony’s pretty sure his mouth is open as Clint slinks past him, disappearing in the same direction as Barnes. He sits down heavily on one of the kitchen chairs.

Clint’s got a point. Now that he thinks about it, playing grab-ass was never the end of the list on Bucky Barnes’ agenda. Half of Steve’s most recent media outbursts feature a _very_ threatening Winter Soldier glowering over his shoulder, interjecting every once in a while with points about health care and gun control. Tony grimaces as he realizes how he must have come off to Barnes, focusing on one issue like he’s got a problem with it or something.

The kitchen chair screeches as Tony stands back up, resolving to apologize to Bucky the next time he sees him.

>>=========>

It turns out the next time he sees Bucky is in the gym. It takes about three seconds for Tony’s sleep-deprived brain to register Clint on the floor, huffing and sweating and arching up off the mats as Bucky buries his head further between his legs. Tony extricates himself quickly and silently, making a note to maybe just send an apology gift basket.

**Author's Note:**

> catch me on Tumblr at spidergwenstefani. I always appreciate requests/headcanons so don't be shy!


End file.
